In Another World
by Demented Insane Spirit
Summary: Ten years was a long time to be in another world, yet they had left their mark on him. As he begins to question his old life, to wonder at his assumed happiness, his eyes turn towards the clear ones that always gazed at him so intently – the eyes of the Bluejay's daughter.


_Disclaimer: I do not own the Inkheart trilogy_

 _Notes/Warnings: first attempt in the Inkheart fandom; Dustfinger/Meggie; set a few years after Inkdeath_

X

 _In Another World_

Farid was arguing with Brianna again, something that Dustfinger had heard often in the past week. She was cold and cruel when she became angry, especially with Farid. Dustfinger listened to the argument placidly, smiling vacantly. Contrary to her usual ice, his daughter had been full of fire lately when she argued with Farid. It was inevitable, of course. Farid was weak to beautiful women and as much as he denied it, he had been attracted to Dustfinger's daughter since he had first set eyes upon her. As for Brianna, she was like her mother. She loved the seductive arts of fire, the sparking blooms that spread before her feet when Farid was feeling particularly romantic. She had fallen for a fire-eater, just as Roxane had years ago. It had been enough time for the two of them to recover from their respective heartbreak. Dustfinger had not been sure Farid would recover from Meggie's rejection, even though Brianna, in her cold matter-of-fact voice, had informed him that he had deserved it.

Dustfinger could well recall the baffled expression of Farid's at Brianna's words and while he had sympathized with the boy at the time, once his daughter began to rail at him, he had run out of sympathy.

"Kissing the maids at Orpheus's house," she had said to Farid, her eyes narrowing imperiously, extending a finger and ticking off his offenses, "harassing my mother instead of sneaking off to see her, flirting with all the girls, letting yourself be led into empty rooms so the girls could be with you, putting my father before _hers_ – did you really expect her to stay with you after all of that?" Even Dustfinger flinched back at her voice. Meggie had gained a vicious ally, whether she knew so or not.

"I just wanted to bring Dustfinger back!" Farid had replied in bewilderment, gazing around to the man in question.

"And tried to sacrifice her father to do it. Don't think I forgive you for him sacrificing himself for _you_. _You_ certainly didn't like it when he did that, what would make you think Meggie would have enjoyed that? And," she continued on, taking another step towards him, "you should be ashamed of yourself, kissing on girls while you claimed to have loved her!"

Dustfinger had crept out then, uncomfortable with the conversation. While he had been alive, Farid had worshipped Meggie to the point of throwing himself in the Adderhead's Castle of Night, so he had been surprised at how quickly the boy had wedged a gap between the two. Like any boy of a certain age, he was as oblivious of his misdeeds as he was of female emotions. Even now, as Dustfinger listened to Farid exclaim at something Brianna had grumbled at him, he rather thought the boy had not gotten a hold on the female gender. _You would think after wandering all over Lombrica, he would have gotten a handle on it._

Stepping away from the home, he turned his face towards the forest and strolled towards it. As he pushed his hair from his face, his fingers lingered upon it. He was still not quite used to the smooth feel of his skin. After years of Basta's scars, it was a strange thing to feel normal skin rather than the bumps of ugly scars. His had dropped as he stepped into the forests and he inhaled the scene of the rich earth. Perhaps it was because he had been reminiscing, but his mind drifted to Meggie. He had seen her mingled gaze of surprise and disappointment when she had seen his face when he had returned to the living. Initially, he had thought perhaps she preferred him with the White Women, but when he saw her intense stare where his scars had been, he realized she had been missing his scars. What a strange reaction to the disappearance of rather ugly marks.

Later, when the kingdom was repairing itself and Dustfinger had gone to visit the Folcharts at their barn to see their newborn, he and Meggie had walked around the peaceful landscape together. She had felt bold enough to ask, "Does it feel much different to be without a scarred face?"

"You don't like this one?" His mouth curved up in his faint, enigmatic smile.

She had surveyed him for a long moment. Her eyes were so clear and steady when she looked at him. In spite of all that she had suffered with the robbers in those last days of the war, she had not come out less of herself, except perhaps a bit more mature. Death tended to accelerate age of those of any age group and this did not exclude the Bluejay's daughter. Even so, he had not yet become accustomed to her gaze in spite of the time he had traveled with her and Farid at his side. She looked at him as though they were both adults, both equals. It was taking time for him to adjust to that thought.

"It was you at once, I guess," she had answered at last, "but I liked your face when it had scars, too."

He had blinked, the only sign that he was surprised by her answer.

 _Strange,_ he thought to himself presently as he walked through the forest. Gwin had found him, chattering madly as he settled upon Dustfinger's shoulder. He had no doubt been out hunting. _I haven't seen her in a few months, have I?_ As soon as the thought came to mind, he regretted it. The strange mix of emotions that he had been experiencing for the past year rose and it was because of this that he had avoided their barn. Resa had visited Roxane occasionally with her baby, but he had always made certain he was far away or would wander off for a few days to ensure that he did not receive any of her updates. He did not want to hear about Meggie, much less in combination with Doria, the Strongman's brother. It caused too much confusion in his heart.

He had been restless at Roxane's farm for nearly a year. After the war, he had thought he was ready to settle down at last, to raise Jehan as he had been, yet he found himself venturing out farther every time he felt the farm. He found himself meeting Farid and the two of them exploring some other area of the Wayless Wood. When he returned, Roxane would always cast him a curious, troubled glance. He knew that she sensed his own restlessness and was certain she sensed the other part, as well. He was growing distant, lost in his own thoughts and dreams. He spent more time at the barn than necessary, with the exception of these past months. The more time he spent within his mind, the more he came to terms with the fact that those ten years lost in the Bluejay's world – in Silvertongue's world – had left their mark upon him; and, he suspected, his time with the White Women had similarly altered him.

His simple life that he had yearned for and had fought so desperately to return to had become less than what he wanted. The problem, he found, was that he was unsure of what it was he _did_ want in Lombrica. He tackled this question nearly every day and each time it returned to memories that still lied near the surface of his brain – memories of languid walks at night, of delighted laughter, and bright, blue eyes that seemed to see into his very being. That, too, was a simple life...but it was not a life with Roxane.

 _I've been gone for long enough,_ he decided, turning his feet to a familiar path. _It's time to test this._ He was still cowardly at heart, yet he craved rejection. Perhaps then his obsession would fade.

When he came to the edge of the forest that hovered near the barn, it was dusk. The barn was bustling with sound. He could hear the Strongman's voice calling out to the Bluejay. Dustfinger could feel himself sink into a sullen mood. If the Strongman were here, that meant Doria was surely to be near, as well. The thought brought him little enjoyment in spite of how respectful and cheerful the boy was to him. Seeing him with Meggie only reminded Dustfinger of his own foolish predicament. If the boy and the Strongman did not kill him for his feelings, the Bluejay and Resa surely would.

He continued to stand near the forest, uncertain. Gwin chattered softly and then ruffled himself before taking off, likely to hunt again. Dustfinger watched him thoughtfully, considering what to do or say. He needed to speak to Meggie, that was imperative. In the past months, he had wondered if his strangely warm feelings for her had derived from his own affections for Resa in Capricorn's village. Any time his thoughts turned that way, however, he felt rather certain that was not the case. While Resa and Meggie had similar features, they were complete opposites. Meggie had a feisty, independent attitude that was entirely her own. Resa was more subtle in her disagreements and more warm-hearted. Meggie was, as little as she would have liked to hear it, truly the _Bluejay's_ daughter. She could walk into danger, clever little thing that she was, and turn her saucy smile at her enemies. She had an admirable spirit, wrapped up in her mother's pretty features.

Sighing softly, Dustfinger stepped away from the meadow that led to the barn. Reminding himself of Meggie's advantages did nothing to his mood. He could not talk to her tonight. It needed to be in private and far from Doria's ears. Pushing a hand through his hair, he glanced back the way he had come and then returned is gaze to the meadow. As he did, he noticed a slim figure walking towards the barn from the other side of the forest. He knew it was not Resa, as she was somewhat slighter. It was Meggie and she was alone, though she was carrying a basket of what he assumed to be herbs for her mother. Gently, he coaxed fire from his fingertips and sent out a bright wisp of fire in the form of a moth. As the moth fluttered away from him and across the meadow, he saw her pause. Even in the dimness, he saw her face turn towards the forest after she spotted the fire moth. She changed her path, heading towards where he was in the forest. As she grew closer, he saw her suspicious gaze clear when she recognized him. She smiled in greeting, raising a hand.

"Why are you lurking in the trees?" she asked him, puzzled. She set the basket against the roots of the tree, joining him in the shadows. "Are you afraid nobody would want you here after you've been away for so long?"

He had forgotten how blunt she could be.

"Not that, no," he answered slowly. "I had just gotten here when I saw you in the meadow."

She turned a skeptical look to him before folding her arms over her chest. He almost sighed aloud. She was preparing herself for an argument, which only meant that she would not accept his swift disregard of the earlier hidden question. "Why did you stop coming? Roxane said you were at home, so it's not like you were gone with Farid." Her tone was not yet accusatory, but he saw the fire in her eyes. There was something else there, almost as if she were trying quite hard to hide it. He wished she was not so adept at lying.

"I'm sorry," Dustfinger told her, knowing that it was inadequate. She waited, expecting an explanation. When he had called her attention to him, he had one in mind, but now it was lost. His voice would not form the words he needed to say. His heart was still a coward. As the silence extended, her mouth thinned and then she looked away from him, glaring out towards the meadow. "I never intended to make you angry," he added, unsure of what else to say. _There I am, making fun of the boy for having no sense with women, and I'm bumbling around just like he does._

"I'm not angry." She lowered her head, her blonde hair obstructing his view of her face. "I just...you could have told me you weren't going to be around for awhile. I kept expecting to see you and – " She broke off abruptly and he saw her shoulders stiffen.

"I wanted to see you, but I..." He trailed off, searching for words. He had never been good at words, something for which he admired Fenoglio greatly. The old man could string a million words together and form beautiful prose, whereas Dustfinger found himself wondering how to form even one sentence. Meggie turned away from the meadow, her brow furrowed. Her emotions were not so well hidden now. She looked wounded, hurt as if he had said something particularly cruel. He hated seeing the pain in her eyes. He had seen it far too many times when she had been worrying about her father. Instinctively, he reached out and smoothed her hair from her face.

"I missed you," she said plainly then, glancing away from him, embarrassed. "I like our conversations. It's hard not seeing you for that long...I don't know why, it's not like it's anything new."

He sighed heavily then, drawing his hand away. It gave him some comfort to know that she was struggling the same as he had been. Now, at least, he could get some strength from that and perhaps say what he needed before he lost courage again. "I think we both know why." She did not raise her eyes to his, although her brow puckered further, a subtle sign of her distress. "I tried to stay away, but I can't. It's not as easy as I thought it would be. If you told me to go away, though...I would do it. You have Doria and he's a good boy. I just need to hear it from you that you want me to leave you alone."

The silence between them stretched for so long that it was as if Dustfinger had not spoken at all. Meggie still would not look at him, although she did look out towards the barn. She shifted after some time and dropped her arms, bending down to pick up the basket. At first, he thought that she was going to simply walk away without answering it, pretending as if he had not brought up such an uncomfortable topic. Instead, though, she ruffled through the herbs and her hand came out with an herb that had small, white petals upon it. He recognized it as Yarrow, a spicy, strong herb that was used for sickness and that some of the wealth would use in their bathwater. Like all herbs, however, it also held a symbolic meaning.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with a small, almost sad smile, "but I can't reject you."

He took the Yarrow from her tentatively, turning it around in his fingers. _Love eternal_ he remembered as the herb's meaning. He stroked his thumb along the stem, considering it. He had once thought that Roxane would be his lifelong love. In every world, he supposed there was only one for you, but he had been in two worlds and so had Meggie. He had not met her in this world, as she had Doria, but in her world. He tucked the Yarrow away and drew near her, noticing that she was trying not to cry. "You don't have to be strong in front of me," he murmured, cupping her face and turning it up towards him. He leaned down, kissing her cheek. He tasted salt as one of her tears dripped down her face. He took the basket she was clutching and set it down, pulling her into his arms. She was slim and warm in his arms.

He stroked her hair, leaning his cheek against her forehead. After months of anxiety and confusion over his own feelings, his heart finally felt at ease. There was a calm serenity that surrounded Dustfinger as he held Meggie. Her warmth and the feel of her hands on his back seeped into him, as if he were absorbing her love into his own body. At another time in his life, he could not have imagined anyone besides Roxane. Roxane, with her seductive minstrel voice and sultry looks, had been all that Dustfinger had desired in his life. Meggie was so much different from her, yet even more enticing. The contrast of her beautiful, sweet looks and her (at times) sharp-tongue was intoxicating.

He wiped her tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and then bent his head, pressing his lips to hers gently. When she leaned into him, his deepened the kiss, pulling her a bit closer. _How much has Farid and Doria taught her?_ Dustfinger wondered vaguely. Farid had blushed at the mention of kissing Meggie, Dustfinger recalled, so he, at least, was no worry. Doria, on the other hand, was another matter. As he swept his tongue through her mouth, touching hers, tasting her, he felt a small tremble travel through her. She was delightful, eager to kiss him, to please him, and to selfishly take her own pleasure. It was just like her. He pulled away rather reluctantly, pressing a lasting, chaste kiss upon her lips.

 _Her eyes are so blue,_ he mused as she blinked her eyes open to meet his gaze. _It's as if I'm looking into the sea._

"What now, Dustfinger?" she whispered so softly he nearly could not hear her.

He smiled, running his fingers through her flaxen hair absent-mindedly. She had never been one to waste time speaking useless words. She was asking the most important question, one that he knew that both knew the answer to already. Her tears had not been from joy, but from agony. She knew, as well as he did, that this was a ridiculous love, one that could easily destroy three sets of people. He could never leave Roxane, not after everything he had put her through, even if his heart had been utterly bewitched by the Bluejay's daughter. She, similarly, could not leave Doria, although Dustfinger suspected that was more due to Fenoglio's clever writing than anything else. She would end up as Doria's wife regardless of where her heart remained. Then, of course, the option of simply vanishing was impossible, as well. Her loyalties had always liked with the Bluejay, her father, before anyone else. She would have thrown herself in front of a horse to save him.

Love was selfish, but they were not.

"Is it enough to know how I feel about you?" he queried after these thoughts had raced through his mind. She smiled at him, grateful perhaps that she had fallen in love with a man whose personality matched hers.

"Is it enough for you?" she asked.

"Well, maybe a few stolen kisses here and there would be nice. After that one, I'm not sure I'll be satisfied."

She laughed at him and pulled his face to hers to kiss him again. After withdrawing a second time, she circled her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. "I could never leave Mo," she said quietly. "He's been through too much."

"I know." He hesitated as a rather gloomy, yet realistic thought entered his mind, but he did not voice it aloud. Dustfinger was sure she was aware of what their age difference might imply. Instead, he kissed her temple and withdrew entirely from her embrace. "As long as I can still see you, Meggie, I'll be happy. These past months without even seeing you were...unpleasant."

"You shouldn't have left, then."

"How could I not?" He laughed. "Your father would kill me if he knew what I thought of you."

"Well," she said lightly, picking up her basket again, "I think you should be used to people wanting to kill you, don't you?" She flashed him a taunting smile over her shoulder. Amused, he leaned over and kissed her once before releasing her to cross over the meadow to the barn.

X

He had seen them hovering around him for some time, lingering and whispering to him. It did not bother him to see the White Women as it once did. There were more of them that night and as he lay against the tree, breathing raggedly, he suspected that tonight would be when they would take him away. He would gladly follow them, as his body was failing him more every day; however, he had to wait just another hour or so. Meggie would be here soon to say goodbye. He had sent her a message with his clumsy handwriting by way of Farid, who had lurked at the farm ever since Brianna had heard of his health. Dustfinger was thankful for Farid's company. The boy had been his son before his son-in-law and when he had rushed to see him, he was reminded of the youthful, boyish face that Farid had once possessed, although it was only fifteen years older now.

 _It's strange to think that your body can fail you that quickly,_ Dustfinger thought to himself, coughing weakly. _But then, I've not had the easiest – or healthiest – of lives, either._ He had known that he would not live too much longer than the Black Prince, who had died only a few years prior. His faithful bear had settled his head next to the man and drifted into a peaceful death with his master. Gwin, similarly, had settled himself over Dustfinger's thigh, as though to ensure he was near when the White Women took him away. He would not allow himself to be far away as he had the last time Dustfinger had died.

He had enjoyed his life the past years, though. Time spent collecting herbs and talking with Meggie had been the highlight of his day. Her mouth always curved into a smile when he saw her and they would take their precious time to exchange words and, at times, kisses. Dustfinger had been honest when he told Meggie that he would be satisfied with what little they could gain. Nobody had been hurt in their rendezvous and even though he loved her, he still felt affection for Roxane, as well. He knew that she felt similarly about Doria, who had taken good care of her while they collaborated on inventions. He was a skilled boy and Dustfinger still felt a slight pang of guilt when he thought of Doria. He was constantly praising Dustfinger's skills and thought the world of him. He knew that Roxane thought strongly of Meggie, too. It was strange how that seemed to work out and he always knew when Meggie's guilt got the best of her when she would spend their time in her own thoughts, distant and far from him. He never left her during those moments, however. Her presence alone was enough to satisfy him.

He had never told Meggie that thought of his in the meadow until his health began to decline. He had known he would die before her and had suspected it would be sooner rather than later. After all, Death had resurrected him for the Bluejay. Once he stopped venturing to the sea and began to spend more of his time near Ombra, she had levelled her gaze on him, inspecting him. She had known that he was dying before anyone else did. She knew his ways and his wandering spirit better than even Roxane.

"Why don't you ask Roxane for a treatment?" she had asked. Even past thirty years of age, she looked lovely. Resa's genes had dominated her own, allowing her a youthful, beautiful appearance. He could not fail to admire her, even after so many years of time spent with her. He wondered that she could still feel so strongly for him.

"It's my time, love," Dustfinger had told her with a shake of his head. "I'm tired of fighting...I was already brought back once and I'm old. It's time I returned to the White Women. They'll enjoy my fire again. And...to be honest, I don't think anything Roxane can whip up will help me."

Meggie had dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. She stroked his hand with her thumb and then she raised his to her lips, kissing it. "I can't change your mind, can I?"

"You know me well enough to know the answer to that."

Her smile had been sad, but she had kissed him, cradling his face in her hands. That had been the first time Dustfinger had truly touched her. He knew she was desperate to keep him to herself before he passed on, to have him fully to herself. He had felt the same desperation, the same crazed passion. She had wound her legs around his tightly, as if he might be taken from her immediately, and as he clung to her afterward, drenched with sweat, he wished he had indulged in her sooner. He wished they had been selfish, wished they were not sharing this moment only once and in pain, but that they had done so every night for the past years and in love, instead.

It had taught him to crave more than just her company, which had been more painful than the coughs that racked his chest every day.

"Not yet," he presently said to the White Women that pressed closer to him, pulling him from his memories. He was about to say more when he saw a figure hastening towards him. He smiled. Meggie's blonde hair almost glowed in the dark. She was breathing hard as she came up to him, but her breath caught when she looked at the White Women. Her chin jutted out as she looked at them and then she dropped down beside Dustfinger. "I thought you wouldn't make it."

"I'm sorry for not getting here faster..." She cast a sidelong glance at the White Women and then she looked again at Dustfinger. He could see the tears welling in her eyes, but she was trying hard to keep them from spilling over. "It's not fair that you make me watch you die twice, Dustfinger."

"Ah...that's right. You _were_ the only one there, weren't you?" He smiled again and raised his hand to her face, smoothing away the stray tear that dripped from her eyes. "You know, it almost broke my heart more to see the way you were crying than the loss of Farid." She laughed, a tremulous smile crossing her lips.

"You're certainly romantic for someone who claims they're no good at romance."

"I've never been a good liar with you." He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I can't help that."

She shook her head and this time, her tears fell freely. She tried in vain to wipe them before he could see them and then gave up, sobbing softly. He watched her for a long moment and then tugged at her until she was sprawled on the ground with him, her face in his chest. He had often seen her cry over death. She was sobbed her heart out when the Black Prince died, as if she had lost her father. She had been inconsolable until Dustfinger had seen her in private. He had never been good with comforting others, but even when he first met her, he had been able to ease Meggie's fears and doubts.

"Would you be very angry with me if I went with you?" Meggie asked softly.

"You wouldn't," he responded calmly. "You would never leave your father for me – or your baby brother." She could have denied it, but instead she fell silent, clinging to him. Tears were still sliding down her cheeks, dripping slowly. He stroked her hair, kissing her forehead comfortingly. The White Women had given him the time he requested, but they would not wait long. He knew it was nearly time. "Meggie." He drew away slightly and she struggled to a sitting position so she could face him. She rubbed at her cheeks, her eyes shining bright with tears in the darkness. "I'm going soon. I've hung on as long as I could, but you need to know that these past years with you have been the best years of my life. Even my time with the motley folk, with the fairies, with Roxane could not compare to the hours I spent with you every day, learning from you and thinking of you every night." He shifted so he could cup her cheek, brushing the new set of tears from her skin. "There is no one else in this world or any other that I love more than you."

She smiled, a mixture of joy and sadness. "You've never said that you loved me before."

"I never needed to say so. You always knew."

She sniffed, wiping at her face again and glancing down. "I love you, Dustfinger...I..." She trailed off, but they both knew what she wanted to say. He smiled his strange, lopsided smile and pulled her down beside him again. She curled against him, pressing her cheek against where his heart was located. She knew when the White Women had taken him and she erupted into fresh tears. His heart was no longer beating beneath her ear, but she remained curled against his cooling body, sobbing.

Dustfinger glanced back from his position between the White Women. There was still a strange little smile on his lips, as if to show he had died contentedly. He turned back to the White Women that watched him expectantly. He knew that someday they would bring Meggie to him, just as they had Rosanna the last time he had died. He knew that he would see her when her time came. Even if his mind did not remember her, his heart would remember.

"Alright," he said, "I'm ready to go back."

 _Finis_


End file.
